The Hall of Sixty Mats hears this in gravid silence, suggesting that the Magistrate’s advisers raised this objection, or else were too afraid to.

Shiroyama looks displeased. ‘What action would the Acting-Chief propose?’

Jacob feels like a distrusted defendant. ‘The best action, for now, is no action.’

There is some surprise; an adviser leans towards Shiroyama’s ear…

Jacob needs Yonekizu again: ‘Tell the Magistrate that the English Captain is testing us. He is waiting to see whether the Japanese or the Dutch respond, and whether we use force or diplomacy.’ Yonekizu frowns at the last word. ‘Words, parleying, negotiation. But by not acting, we will make the English impatient. Their impatience will cause them to reveal their intentions.’

The Magistrate listens, nods slowly, and orders Jacob: ‘Guess their intentions.’

Jacob obeys his instinct to answer truthfully. ‘First,’ he begins in Japanese, ‘they came to take the Batavia ship and its cargo of copper. Because they found no ship, they took hostages. They…’ he hopes this makes sense ‘… they want to harvest knowledge.’

Shiroyama’s fingers entwine. ‘Knowledge about Dutch forces on Dejima?’

‘No, Your Honour: knowledge about Japan and its empire.’

The ranks of advisers mutter. Enomoto stares. Jacob sees a skull wrapped in skin.

‘All men of honour,’ the Magistrate raises his fan, ‘prefer death by torture over giving information to an enemy.’ All present, Chamberlain Kôda, Inspector Suruga and Interpreter Iwase excepted, nod with indignant agreement.

None of you, Jacob thinks, has been within fifteen decades of a real war.

‘But why,’ Shiroyama asks, ‘are the English hungry to learn about Japan?’

I am taking a thing apart, Jacob fears, which I cannot put back together.

‘The English may wish to trade in Nagasaki again, Your Honour.’

My move is made, the Acting-Chief thinks, and I cannot take it back.

‘Why you use the word,’ asks the Magistrate, ‘ “again”?’

Lord Abbot Enomoto clears his throat. ‘Acting-Chief de Zoet’s statement is accurate, Your Honour. Englishmen traded in Nagasaki long ago, during the time of the First Shogun, when silver was exported. One doesn’t doubt that the memory of those profits lingers in their land, to this day… though naturally, the Acting-Chief would know more about this than I do.’

Against his will, Jacob imagines Enomoto pinning Orito down.

Wilfully, Jacob imagines bludgeoning Enomoto to death.

‘How does kidnapping our allies,’ Shiroyama asks, ‘win our trust?’

Jacob turns to Yonekizu. ‘Tell His Honour the English don’t want your trust. The English want fear and obedience. They build their empire by sailing into foreign harbours, firing cannons and buying local magistrates. They expect His Honour to behave like a corrupt Chinaman or a Negro king, happy to trade the well-being of your own people for an English-style house and a bagful of glass beads.’

As Yonekizu translates, the Hall of Sixty Mats crackles with anger.

Belatedly, Jacob notices a pair of scribes in the corner recording every word.

The Shogun himself, he thinks, will be poring over your words in ten days.

A chamberlain approaches the Magistrate from one side with a message.

The announcement, in Japanese too formal for Jacob to understand, seems to heighten the tension. To save Shiroyama the trouble of dismissing him, Jacob turns again to Yonekizu: ‘Give my government’s thanks to the Magistrate for his support, and beg his permission for me to return to Dejima and oversee preparations.’

Yonekizu provides a suitably formal translation.

The Shogun’s representative dismisses Jacob with a curt nod.

XXXIII The Hall of Sixty Mats at the Magistracy

After Acting-Chief de Zoet’s departure on the Second Day of the Ninth Month

‘The Dutchman may look like a goblin from a child’s nightmare,’ says Shiroyama, noticing his advisers’ sycophantic sneers, ‘but he is no fool.’ The sneers quickly turn into wise nods of agreement.

‘His manners are polished,’ approves one city elder, ‘and his reasoning clear.’

‘His Japanese was odd,’ says another, ‘but I understood most of it.’

‘One of my spies on Dejima,’ says a third, ‘says he studies incessantly.’

‘But his accent,’ complains an inspector, Wada, ‘was like a crow’s!’

‘And you, Wada, speak Dazûto’s tongue,’ asks Shiroyama, ‘like a nightingale?’

Wada, who speaks no Dutch at all, is wise enough to say nothing.

‘And the three of you,’ Shiroyama waves his fan at the men held responsible for the kidnap of the two Dutch hostages, ‘you owe your lives to his clemency.’

The nervous men respond with humble bows.

‘Interpreter Iwase, my report to Edo shall note that you, at least, tried to engage the abductors, however ineptly. You are needed at your Guild and may go.’

Iwase bows deeply and hurries from the Hall.

‘You two,’ Shiroyama stares at the hapless inspector and official, ‘brought disrepute to your rank, and taught the Englishmen that Japan is populated by cowards.’ Few of your peers, the Magistrate admits to himself, would have acquitted themselves any better. ‘Stay confined to your houses until further notice.’

The two disgraced men crawl backwards to the door.

Shiroyama finds Tomine. ‘Summon the Captain of the Coastal Guards.’

The swarthy Captain is ushered on to the very mat vacated by de Zoet. He bows before the Magistrate. ‘My name’s Doi, Your Honour.’

‘How soon, with what force, and how best may we retaliate?’

Instead of replying, the man stares at the floor in front of his knees.

Shiroyama looks at Chamberlain Tomine, who is as puzzled as his master.

A half-mute incompetent, Shiroyama wonders, promoted by a relative?

Wada clears his throat. ‘The Hall is waiting for your answer, Captain Doi.’

‘I inspected…’ the soldier glances up like a rabbit in a snare ‘… the battle-readiness of both guard-posts, north and south of the bay, and consulted with the highest-ranking officers available.’

‘I want strategies for counterattacks, Doi, not regurgitated orders!’

‘It was… intimated to me, sir, that – that troop strength is currently…’

Shiroyama notices the better-informed courtiers fanning themselves anxiously.

‘… a lower number than the thousand men stipulated by Edo, Your Honour.’

‘Are you telling me that the garrisons of Nagasaki Bay are under-manned?’

Doi’s cringing bow affirms that this is so. Advisers murmur in alarm.

A small shortage shan’t damage me, thinks the Magistrate. ‘By how many?’

‘The exact number,’ Captain Doi swallows, ‘is sixty-seven, Your Honour.’

Shiroyama’s guts untwist themselves: not even his most vitriolic rival Ômatsu, with whom he shares the post of Magistrate, could portray a lack of sixty-seven men out of one thousand as Dereliction. It could be written off as sickness. But a glance at the faces around the room tells the Magistrate he is missing something…

… until a fearful thought uproots all things.

‘Not – surely not -’ he masters his voice ‘- sixty-seven men in total?’

The weatherbeaten Captain is too nervous to reply.

Chamberlain Tomine barks: ‘The Magistrate asked you a question!’

‘There-’ Doi disintegrates and must begin again. ‘There are thirty guards at the North Garrison, and thirty-seven at the South. That is the total, Your Honour.’

Now the advisers study Magistrate Shiroyama…

Sixty-seven soldiers, he holds the damning numbers, in lieu of one thousand.

… the cynical, the ambitious, his appalled allies, Ômatsu’s place-men…

Some of you leeches knew this, Shiroyama thinks, and said nothing.

Doi is still crouching like a prisoner waiting for the sword to fall.